It wasn't until the last week of August that Snape became aware of the hurriedly approaching start of term; if it weren't for the stacks of folders on his desk, all completed schedules and lesson plans for the new term, than he wouldn't have been able to account for any of the lost time. He'd thoroughly dived into his work, preparing each and every lesson schedule with extreme detail; everything was covered, from the first years, up to the fifth years, and past to those few who might be joining his N.E.W.T. classes. He'd received the list from Minerva over a quick lunch in the staff room a few days earlier, and was rather surprised to see some of the names on the list. Two more students had achieved OWLs than the last year; of course, he wouldn't praise them yet. He still had to see if they could handle the term work.
Setting aside his quill and re-stoppering the inkwell he sat back in his seat and looked over the stacks of parchment. He was actually a bit surprised that he'd managed to get it all done a week early; of course, he usually got it all done a week early, however he'd assumed that taking a week for his heat would have put him back a bit.
The thought made him frown, and his thoughts turned unwillingly towards the Headmaster; he'd been doing his best over the last few weeks not to think of the Headmaster, in fact, he'd been doing his best to keep the other man out of his life for the time being all together. And, or so it seemed, the Headmaster was doing the exact same thing.
Though Dumbledore rarely dined with the teachers save for during the school term, Snape couldn't fail to notice that he hadn't seen the man at all since their brief lucid conversation (or lack there off) in this very living room. Twisting in his chair, Snape glanced around the torch lit room. It looked as it always had, as did his bedroom, which he'd repaired easily enough. Nothing had changed, and yet….
There was an unmistakable emptiness to his quarters that he couldn't quite explain. Snape had always been fond of his privacy and his space, having to be dragged into social events; not necessarily because he didn't like his coworkers, he did… as best as he could like them, he supposed. He certainly respected some of them enough not to argue when invited to share a cup of tea; or a scotch where Minerva was concerned.
Snape had done his best not to think of the Headmaster or of the events that had taken place between them; but eventually, his thoughts would turn towards the older man, and his mind return to think over the events that he'd rather forget.
With a rather disgruntled sigh, he stood up from his desk, shoving the chair noisily back into place before heading towards the bathroom. Entering the room, he turned on the tap and put the plug in the drain, scrubbing at his hands as he let the basin fill up with steaming hot water. The water burned, and his skin turned pink, but he didn't care, merely continued scrubbing viciously at the ink stains on his fingers.
Once he'd gotten the ink off, he turned off the tap, and leaving the sink filled with steaming hot water, he marched back out of the room and towards his bedroom. He rummaged in his chest of drawers, pulling out a change of shirt before moving to his wardrobe and pulling out his vest and robes. Taking his clothes with him he returned to the bathroom, setting them in a bundle on the lid of the toilet before turning his attention back to the sink, fully intending to wash his face; catching his reflection in the mirror he paused just as the clock in his living room chimed eleven.
Blinking, as though startled, he glanced back to the clothes bundled on the toilet seat; he frowned at them before looking back at his reflection in the mirror. A line had formed between his brows, and a frown curled his lips. It was eleven-o-clock, Thursday evening, and he'd been fully prepared to change and take himself up to the Headmaster's office. Exhaling slowly, his gaze still locked with that of his reflection, he let himself deflate a little, gripping the rim of the sink.
He'd been preparing for late night tea, the late night tea that he'd been having with the Headmaster for the past five years; the late night tea he'd stopped attending for the last two weeks. Clicking his teeth in irritation at himself he bowed his head and braced himself against the sink. He'd prepare to go due merely to habit. He'd found himself doing the same thing last week, and the week before that.
The first Thursday evening after his heat, he'd actually dressed and made it all the way out of the dungeons and to the grand staircase before turning right back around returning to his quarters. And last week, he'd dressed and almost been out his door when he dragged himself back and distracted himself with writing out pop quizzes. It was strange, not going up to the Headmaster's office. They'd always gathered there, to drink, and talk. It was on those occasions, in the beginning, that Dumbledore would get his information from Snape, or personally question if he'd been taking care of himself; it had always annoyed Snape that Dumbledore would ask him if he'd been taking care of himself, he knew that the old man already knew the answer. It was just a ritual, a ritual where one would question, and the other would answer, or confess. A ritual neither had quite managed to shake; a ritual that had, over time, evolved into something almost social.
Snape shook himself slightly, trying to force the urge to climb his way to the Headmaster's office as he'd been conditioned to do out of his mind; hating that he wanted to, that he genuinely wanted to. The ritual of late tea with Dumbledore had given Snape something he'd never had in his life; structure.
Late tea was something that was expected of him, but not something necessarily unpleasant in nature. Something he had to do, for one reason or another, which would lead to either reward, or rebuke. He supposed it could almost be compared to a child who was expected to present his test results to his parents each quarter, and wait while his parents went over each mark; the child would be praised for the good marks, and disciplined for the bad marks.
He'd never had a structure like that when he was a child, not even while at Hogwarts. No one had ever shown interest in him in such a way, in the parental sense where they actually cared about him enough to try and school his actions. He supposed that late tea with Dumbledore, had always offered him a sense of comfort, a sense of safety. He would always return to that warm circular room, where he was assured (at least for the time being) warmth and safety; something that had never been guaranteed to him before.
Even when he was broken, incapable of living for himself, whenever he'd become overwhelmed he'd always end up back in the Headmaster's office. There was no hiding there, no secrets, no lies to be told and tales to be spun; that, in itself had been a comfort. Snape hated that he was having such a hard time breaking the pattern, hated that he wanted to go to the Headmaster's office, hated that the Headmaster had not once called upon him.
Dumbledore hadn't once sent for him, or left any message inquiring as to why he hadn't arrived for late tea, and Snape hated how insignificant that made him feel. Could Dumbledore merely go on about his life as though they had not been ritualistically meeting every week for the past five years? Could he possibly not care at all that Snape no longer went up to his office? Had their time spent together in that circular room meant nothing to the older man? Had Snape meant nothing?
'I've got you, it won't hurt anymore; I'll take care of you.'
Snape flinched, grip tightening on the edge of the sink turning his knuckles white. 'I'll take care of you'. That hadn't been the first time that those words had been uttered by the headmaster; had he been foolish enough to believe the older man even from the beginning?
'My precious Severus, beautiful, so beautiful, perfect, my lovely, lovely boy.'
Snape hissed, arms trembling slightly with the force of his grip upon the stone beneath his fingers. The words came unbidden into his mind, echoing softly at the forefront of his brain like a soft wind caresses a pond, sending smooth ripples across the surface of his memories.
'Good boy.'
Snape growled and lashed out at the water in the sink, splashing it across the counter and onto the floor, some drenching his pant leg and shoes. Smacking the edge of the wet counter, he leaned over the basin, breathing heavily.
"Damn it."
Six-o-clock in the AM on Friday morning found Dumbledore in his office study, going over the list of things to be attended to before the start of term; rules to be implemented, rules to be gone over again, and a new list of banned items given to him by Filch. As Headmaster it was his duty to go over everything, check every detail, give his 'go ahead' or write out his reasons for ignoring, altering, or flat out refusing to negotiate on any item presented him. This is where McGonagall found him.
"There you are." She stated, and Albus was quite surprised at her sudden appearance; he'd missed her knocking completely. Framed in the doorway of his study she looked positively exasperated; floating at her side was a tray of food, and Albus suddenly recognized the exasperation in her tone and expression for what it was, concern.
He did his best to look sheepish as he turned in his chair to face her, though he doubted he pulled it off if her thinned lips and flaring nostrils were anything to go off of.
"Didn't you hear me knocking, Albus?" She inquired, stepping down into his study, tray moving right along beside her.
"I must admit that I missed it completely, Minerva. As you can see, I was rather invested in my work, and there is still a considerable amount of it that still needs doing before the week is up."
"Don't give me any of that," She snapped, frowning steely at him as she took the tray in her hands and set it down (perhaps a little harder than necessary) on the desk. Shoving aside stacks of papers and books, she pushed the tray towards him before straightening up. "work or no work, you have to eat."
Albus sighed; there would be absolutely no arguing with her. He could tell that she'd worked herself into a right state, and he personally found it exhausting to argue with her when she got like that.
He really thought it quite a pity that Minerva had never had children; she would have made a fantastically fierce mother. He still mourned the loss of her late husband, Elphinstone, who despite the age difference, would have made a wonderful father; his dotting love for Minerva alone would have give him motivation enough to sire dozens of children had she desired them. Yes, it was such a pity that such a happy marriage had been cut short.
"It is very kind of you to bring me up some food yourself." He said cheerfully, pulling the tray a little nearer and spreading jam on his toast, if only to give the hovering woman a bit of a show; he honestly wasn't very hungry. "Although, I could have simply requested something from the kitchens." He pointed out, taking a bite of the toast as he glanced up at her. Her expression was still stern and her lips still thin.
"Yes, but would you have?" She inquired, with the air of a woman who already knew the answer and was utterly exasperated by it. She had a fair point.
"Alright, you win. Thank you for breakfast." His tone was kind and genuine, but there was a fine hint of dismissal, one the woman didn't fail to notice.
"I'll expect to see you for lunch, Albus. It would be nice if I didn't have to trek myself up here again only to ensure it though."
"I'll join you in your office if you would like." Albus consented; taking another bite of his toast as he read over one of the paper's that she'd pushed aside. This seemed to agree with her, for she turned to leave, though she didn't get very far.
Hovering in the doorway, he could feel McGonagall watching him; could almost sense the hesitancy in her as she teetered on the edge of going and staying.
"I don't wish to snoop, Albus," She began, and he looked up at her calmly. He could see the concern, the nervous curiosity, plainly etched into the lines of her face. "but I can't help but notice, well," She seemed to hunt around for what she wished to say, and made a slightly disquieted noise as she wrung her fingers together. When he didn't speak, she let her loosely clasped hands fall in front of her, eyeing him with a mixture of weariness and concern. "I can't help but feel as though something's happened, Albus." She eyed him, hopeful that he'd interrupt her, but when he didn't she sighed. "Something has happened, hasn't it? Between you and Severus."
Albus couldn't help but admire the woman before him, she'd hit the nail on the head, though he hadn't doubted that she would for a second. Minerva had always been an extremely observant witch, with strong opinions, principles, and moral character. She'd also been Albus's friend for a very long time, since her school days at Hogwarts, and knew him far better than most of the current teacher's at Hogwarts.
"I'm not blind Albus," She stated baldly. "I've known you long enough to know when you're hiding. I don't want to know what's happened, I think I've a pretty good guess, but I have to ask something," She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as though to steel herself, before opening her eyes and gazing firmly and steadily at him. "What are your intentions, if you have any, and do they involve Severus?" She asked, her expression leaving no room for dismissal. "Because I swear to God, Albus, if you intentionally do anything cruel to that boy I'll—"
"Admirable, Minerva, truly." Albus praised. "But I can assure you, that I have no intentions where Severus is concerned, let alone intentions to hurt him; though I cannot say that I have not already done that." A gleam of something came over the woman's faintly lined face, and her lips parted, confusion and shock battling against suspicion and doubt.
"Albus, you mean, you didn't—"
"I have done nothing that would, in any way, alter Severus's life without his consent. Again, I cannot say that I have not hurt him."
Climbing back down into the study, Minerva approached him, looking wearily down at him.
"Severus is an Omega, isn't he?"
Albus remained silent, but his gaze never wavered from hers. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her cheek, opening them again to look wearily around the crowded study.
"I, I wondered, several times when he was a boy." She stated quietly, more to herself than to him. "But I'd never come across any solid evidence, and when he came to work here," She shrugged her shoulders slightly and shook her head, hand still cradled against her cheek. "he never showed any signs. It never crossed my mind again to wonder." Her face turned to his, and their eyes met. "Until a few weeks ago."
"Where Severus is concerned, I can tell you nothing." Albus stated, turning his attention back to the tray of food she had brought him; it looked even less enticing than it had before. "However, two weeks ago, I entered an early and unplanned rut. Though I attempted to be discreet, you no doubt caught wind of my scent before I could take the suppressant didn't you?"
"Yes, I think so. I didn't know exactly what it was when I smelt it, but I had a theory." She said with a nod. "I thought it would be stronger." She mused quietly.
"To you it would be nothing more than a passing and rather faint enticing scent." He said with a genuine smile up at her. "Though your husband maybe gone, my dear, your heart is still very much bonded to him, am I correct?" Minerva's fingers twitched slightly, as though she'd gone to rub them across the back of her neck, but she resisted; her hand fell back to her side and she nodded.
"Despite Elphinstone being just a Wizard, he didn't love me less for my status as a Beta, and certainly did his best to make sure that I was comfortable with our arrangement."
"He was a good man." Albus praised.
"Yes. Yes he was." She sighed, and reached forward to place her hand on Albus's shoulder; he didn't brush it aside, but merely looked up at her. "Albus, if you didn't bond, you must be aware that even so, this could very well be hurting Severus."
"I am aware of the possibility, Minerva, but cannot say for certain, and thus, can do nothing unless otherwise requested to do so." She opened her mouth as though to speak, but nothing came, and she quickly closed it, nodding her understanding. She patted Albus's shoulder before turning and excusing herself. Albus returned his attention to his work, though he obediently nibbled at the breakfast she'd delivered for him; Minerva was an incredible woman.
The start of term was a blessing that Snape had rarely ever taken to heart, but now felt thoroughly thankful for; the distraction of children, though mostly annoying, was exactly what he needed to keep his mind focused. He couldn't have stray thoughts about the Headmaster while attending to his teaching and Head of House duties; though meal times still remained a weak area of distraction.
Snape never ate breakfast in the Great Hall, and only occasionally joined a sparse group of teachers for lunch there, it was dinner that was the problem. The entire school gathered under that enchanted ceiling for dinners, and it was the only meal the Headmaster ever took there. Snape did the best that he could. He sat as far from the Headmaster as he could, arriving at meals earlier than usual to be sure a seat at an acceptable distance.
He would engage in benign conversation with whoever he was seated next to if only to try and keep his thoughts from wandering towards the Headmaster. He was only successful some of the time.
Occasionally, over the first week of term, when Snape was unfortunate enough to be seated besides someone who he had no interest in speaking, nor who had interest in speaking with him, he would be forced to eat his dinner in silence, and of course his thoughts would begin to stray to the Headmaster. He'd even manage a glance or two, usually to find the Headmaster in deep conversation with either Minerva, or Pamona, both of whom he was very fond of; if Snape didn't know better, he would have thought the man's interests less than innocent, but he knew better; and he knew for a fact that the Headmaster was a total poof, and had been for his entire life.
Not that there was anything wrong with that of course, it just made the friendly conversations he'd spy at a glance infuriate him more. He couldn't exactly figure out why, though he was still bothered by the fact that the Headmaster hadn't called upon him to inquire about their now nonexistent gatherings on Thursday nights. What was it that was bothering him, and why couldn't he figure it out?
He'd gone over the entire situation in his mind several times, and had come to the conclusion that it wasn't the sex that had bothered him; though perhaps it should have, having been fucked by a man who was seventy-plus-years his senior wasn't exactly something that most would consider ideal or acceptable. Then again, when had he ever cared what society thought was acceptable? The brand on his left forearm was proof enough that he never had; though his association with the Headmaster had made him a bit more conscious over the years.
He'd even considered once or twice borrowing the Pensive so as to properly comb over the memories, to see if he'd missed something that could be the reason behind his confused mood; but he'd promptly dismissed the idea. Though the Pensive was the property of Hogwarts School, and any teacher was welcome to use it, to borrow it would mean having to ask the Headmaster, and he knew that Dumbledore would know why he wanted it; that was almost worse that having to ask the Headmaster for the damn thing in and of itself. No, Snape would have to figure it out the old fashioned way.
It wasn't until mid November when Snape had no choice but to speak with the Headmaster. He'd been in the middle of double Potions with the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor Second years, telling off Nymphadora Tonks, and Charlie Weasley for almost setting off a fellow student's cauldron when the class was interrupted. Glancing towards the back of the class, he spotted Daniel Graham, Slytherin's current Prefect poking his head around the door.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff Miss Tonks, and ten from Gryffindor as well Mr. Weasley, go sit down." He snapped before turning his full attention towards the door, where the Prefect had slipped farther into the room. "Yes, what is it Graham?"
"Uh, it's a first year, Professor." The Prefect looked sheepish, not that Snape was surprised; it had only been three months since Graham's duties as a Prefect began, and this was the first time he'd ever had to call on Snape for anything.
"Yes?"
"Uh, well, she's out in the corridor."
"Alright, I'll deal with it. Graham come in and watch over the class, you have full permission to dock points or set detentions if they get out of line," He shot a seething look towards the front of the class where Tonks had turned her hair a hideous shade of yellow.
"Yes Professor." Stepping out into the corridor and closing his classroom door behind him, he looked down the stone passageway and spotted the first year in question. Crossing to her he noted that she'd obviously been crying and was making a strong attempt at stopping.
She was a tiny little thing, small for eleven, with long wavy blonde hair, and dark brown eyes, which were puffy from crying.
"What's your name?" He inquired, squatting down to look at her a bit more closely. She sniffed and took several large gulps of air, but even so her reply came out stunted and quiet.
"E-e-emalthia, Emalthia Stibbins." She handed him a small slip of parchment, which he glanced at; it was a signed release from Professor Sprout. Tucking the parchment away in his pocket, he withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her, glancing at the other crumpled piece of parchment in her hand.
"What's wrong Emalthia?" Snape was no stranger to First Year breakdowns, and found that it didn't matter where the child came from, whether from a Wizarding family or a Muggle family, the separation from ones parents was, more often than not, a bit of a struggle. He was however, used to dealing with crying and upset First Years at the beginning of term, not three months in; which lead him to the conclusion, this was not about being homesick.
"I got this l-letter from home," She hiccupped, doing her best to collect herself but failing miserably as she held out the crumpled bit of parchment. Snape took it, and straightening back up read over it quickly; the tightness in his chest, which had been bothering him for months, constricted; though he was certain it was not due to his mysterious ailment. Handing the letter back to her he looked at her grimly.
"Alright, that's fine." Crouching back down, he looked at her directly. "I'll send notes to your other professors excusing you from class, but first we'd better go and talk to the Headmaster." Her dark eyes widened slightly and she sniffed loudly; he wished that he were better equipped at comforting small children. He could discipline them, protect them, guide them with a steady but firm hand, but he could not for the life of him, offer them comfort in their times of need. "Come on," Standing up straight again and feeling the blood flow back into his knees, he lead the girl out of the dungeons and towards the grand staircase.
As they climbed the steps and he started slightly, she'd grabbed his hand. He glanced down at her, but she wasn't looking at him; she was gazing wide eyed straight ahead of her, a mingled mix of anguish and fear etched onto her young slightly blotchy face. Children had touched him before, grabbed onto his arm, or backs of his robes, but they'd never held his hand… or rather, he'd never held theirs. It was strange, different, something he wasn't accustomed to, but he didn't withdraw his hand, instead, he loosely curled his fingers around her own, leading her up the stairs.
"You know, there's no reason to be frightened." He assured voice quiet as they walked; a few of the paintings glanced their way, the occupants pointing and muttering to one another. It was probably out of mere curiosity and the desire for gossip, but it still grated on his nerves, and it took quite a bit of self control not to snap at the painted people to mind their own goddamn business. "The Headmaster is actually very nice,"
"B-but," She hiccupped. "This is going to ruin e-everything."
"No," He frowned down at her. "How can you possibly think that?"
"What if I have to l-leave? W-when would I c-com back? I'm going to g-get so far b-behind!" Pausing halfway along a deserted corridor, the soft din of occupied classrooms on either side of them, Snape turned and faced the girl, her hand still held in his.
"Listen to me," Crouching down again he looked at her straight on. "This isn't going to ruin anything, alright? The Headmaster is a very kind, understand man, he'll want what's best for you." She sniffed deeply and looked as though she was going to interrupt but he held up his free hand. "I've known the Headmaster for a very long time. He always has other people's best interest at heart. That's why he's such a good Headmaster," Straightening up, he gave her hand a small squeeze and began leading her along again. "did you know that he's been named the Greatest Headmaster this school has ever seen?" He inquired, glancing down at her as they walked. She sniffed and shook her head, looking back up at him. He nodded. "He has, and Hogwarts has had a great deal of Headmasters, of all sorts and temperaments, and he's beaten the lot." Her dark eyes widened in wonder, silent tears still leaking out of the puffy red corners to stain her blotchy red stained cheeks.
"Is, is he r-really as good as all that?"
"He's not just good, he's better." Snape stated with a curt nod as they approached the end of the corridor where the large gargoyle statue guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Besides," He gave her a slightly questioning coy look, squeezing her hand again as they came to pause in front of the gargoyle. "would your Head of House let anyone hurt you in anyway?" She sniffled again, wiping her nose on the handkerchief he'd given her and slowly shook her head. "That's right. You're part of Slytherin house, where our loyalty never wavers, and we are closer than family. You're one of my snakes now; any hurt caused to you is as much an insult to me as any other Slytherin in any other year." She gave him a small smile at that and turned her attention to the ugly stone gargoyle that was watching them keenly. "Peppermint toad." He said simply, and the stone gargoyle climbed off of its plinth, revealing a rather deep niche in the wall where a spiraling stone staircase ascended up and out of sight.
Snape lead the girl to the steps, and began to climb, her close at his heals and refusing to let go of his hand. He heard the stone gargoyle climb back into place, and the wall solidify behind them. Once they'd reached the top of the stairs, they came to an oak wooden door; a great many voices could be heard on the other side of it, and Snape felt the girl slink closer to his side, no doubt still worried that the Headmaster would be displeased with her. Snape however was undaunted and rapped his knuckles against the old wood sharply. The voices within the room went silent, and a moment later they were bidden to enter.
Crossing the threshold, Snape lead the little girl into the circular office; her puffy eyes widened and despite her obvious nerves she couldn't quite restrain her desire to gape at everything, from the funny little silver instruments that emitted puffs of smoke on the spindly legged tables, to the snoring paintings of past Headmasters and Headmistresses upon the walls. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was leading her, he probably would have felt incredibly uncomfortable walking around the tables and crossing to the large oak desk where the Headmaster was eyeing them curiously.
Only once he stopped did the girl's wandering gaze return forward again. He felt her tense beside him and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Headmaster we need to talk to you, it's important." He stated coolly, dark gaze darting to the quill in the Headmaster's hand. Dumbledore's brows rose slightly, blue gaze moving from Severus to the little Slytherin plastered to his side before setting his quill down.
"Of course, please, have a seat." He gestured to the plush chair opposite his desk. Snape glanced down to the little girl, pointing to the chair. She looked up at him and muttered something, to which he muttered a reply, and only then did the little girl release her grip on his hand and move to sit in the chair. Once she was situated, Dumbledore waved his wand and an identical chair appeared out of thin air beside hers. He looked expectantly at Snape, who scowled behind the girls back before taking his own seat.
"Now, what is this about?" He asked, his gaze going to rest on the little girl, Snape looked at her too, but she'd gone white and didn't appear to be willing to talk. Snape sighed and reached forward, taking the letter from her (she didn't complain) and handing it across the desk to Dumbledore who scanned it.
"It appears that Miss Stibbins's grandmother passed away yesterday morning. It would have taken her parents longer to get the news to her but a wizard neighbor let them borrow his owl; Miss Stibbins is a muggle born." Dumbledore sighed, folding the letter once he'd finished reading it and handed it back across the desk.
"So unfortunate, I'm very sorry for your loss Miss Stibbins." He said somberly, folding his hands upon the desk while Severus tucked the letter into the front pocket of the girl's school robes; she was still quite frozen in place. "Were you close with your grandmother?" Red-rimmed dark brown eyes darted towards Severus, who was leaning forward in his chair slightly, eyeing her silently; she sucked in her lips nervously, but at an encouraging nod from her head of house she returned her attention to Dumbledore.
"Y-yes sir." She managed to whisper, voice thick as fresh tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. "S-she lived w-w-ith us. She was s-s-so proud when P-professor McGonagall came to talk to my p-parents about m-m-my coming here." Snape produced another handkerchief from an inside pocket of his robe and handed it to the girl, discarding the soiled one with a small puff of smoke. Dumbledore smiled sadly.
"I'm sure she would have been very proud of you, my dear. Now," Pulling a tin from his desk drawer he slid it across the desk to rest in front of her. "if you'd like a lemon drop, help yourself."
"R-really?"
"Of course." The girl gave Severus a glance before scooting forward in her seat and taking one of the yellow candies and putting it in her mouth. She sucked on it quietly, still sniffing occasionally. "I will personally arrange for your parents to pick you up at Kings Cross station tomorrow evening," Dumbledore stated, pulling a clean piece of parchment towards him and re-dipping his quill.
"W-what?"
Dumbledore paused and looked over his half-moon spectacles at the surprised look on the girls face.
"Well my dear, surely you wish to attend your grandmother's funeral?"
"Y-yes, I do, but, I t-thought, what about?" She swallowed the remaining bit of lemon drop and coughed slightly. "What about my classes, and h-homework?"
"You'll be able to make up the work when you return, and I'm sure a friend, or perhaps one of the prefects could write up notes for the classes you'll be missing." Dumbledore stated, returning his attention to the parchment and beginning to write.
"See?" Snape cocked a brow at her. "Don't worry too much about falling behind, it's far too early in the school year to be worrying about that. Now, why don't you return to your dormitory and begin packing your things? I'll send Heathers to help you after I've sent notes to the rest of your teachers."
"O-okay." She slid from her seat, wiped her eyes and stared at Dumbledore, who glanced back at her and offered a consoling smile. Her own lips twitched upwards slightly. "Thank you Headmaster," She glanced at Snape. "Professor." And taking one last lemon drop turned and exited the office with only a faint hiccup.
Snape watched her go before standing, intending to return to his classroom to see if Graham had survived, and to assure himself that his classroom and office was still in one piece; he was almost certain that Tonks would be the death of him, the girl was a menace.
"Severus, please wait just a moment." He froze at the door, nostrils flaring as his jaw clenched. He'd been afraid of this; at least while Miss Stibbins was with him he could use her as a foil against the Headmaster's attention, now he found himself rather defenseless. Schooling his expression he turned part way around to gaze back at the man on the other side of the desk.
"Yes, Headmaster?" He inquired voice cold and indifferent. The other man surveyed him for a moment, those blue eyes seeming to peer clear through to his core and making the hairs on his arms stand on end.
"Do be sure to take great care in assigning someone to take notes for Miss Stibbins, Severus. It would be quite unfair for her to return and have nothing to go on while trying to make up her marks."
Snape's jaw tensed and he could feel his blood pressure rising, but he was quite proud of the fact that he managed not to snap back at the other man; why should he give him the satisfaction?
"Of course, sir." He hissed quietly, and turning sharply back to the door swept out of the office, his anger bubbling over into rage as he marched down the spiral stone staircase; part of him couldn't understand why he was so angry, but another part of him, a very small part that he kept buried very, very deep down inside his mind understood all too well.
The weekend that followed his first face-to-face encounter with the Headmaster was the first weekend where he had no detentions to overlook, and only a medium sized stack of essays and tests to grade; if he trusted his Head boy and girl more he'd have them go over the stacks for him, but despite having proven themselves trustworthy, he couldn't quite bring himself to permit them near the homework; there was, after all, always that chance they'd try and give credit where credit was not due. Spending most of the morning, and a good portion of the afternoon grading the essays (he'd leave the tests for later), Snape decided that fresh air was in order; he needed to get out of the castle, clear his head enough so he could properly tackle the problem at hand: whatever it was that he was feeling. It was a big problem, but not so big that he didn't doubt that some fresh air and a drink wouldn't help take the edge off.
So, at half past four-thirty in the afternoon, bundled up in his thicker winter robes, Snape left the castle and steadily marched his way through the grounds, out the gates, and down the snow covered trail that lead down to the village of Hogsmead. The snow was still powdery, the ground still squishy from all of the rain they'd gotten at the end of October; but there was a sharp nip to the air, and Snape could smell that the first big snow storm was on its way. Soon Hogwarts would be covered in a thick blanket of snow.
Hogsmead was relatively quiet, and Snape was glad for it; he never wandered down into the village during Hogsmead weekends; he dealt with students enough as it was, and never felt up to tormenting himself with mingling with them outside of the classrooms when he could avoid it. It didn't really help that most of the seventh years barely took him seriously; if it weren't for his rather nasty reputation they probably would have openly expressed their lack of respect for him. Being the youngest professor at Hogwarts had its major drawbacks, and being only eight-years-older than most of the seventh years was one of them.
When he'd arrived at his destination and entered into the quiet of The Hog's Head, he shook the powdery snow from the hems of his robes and glanced around the run down bar. It was just as dark and grimy as it had always been, with bits of dirt and straw building up in the corners of the room. The sound of hooves and faint bleating could be heard somewhere over head, and the crackle pop of the low fire was loud enough to drowned out the hushed conversation of the rather—questionable patrons.
Snape ignored a small group of wizards in the corner who'd stopped whispering amongst themselves to leer in his direction, crossing to the dirty bar and leaning against it. He could hear the shuffling movements of the bar man in the back room, but rather than call him out he waited patiently. As he waited he picked up the muffled whispering from the wizards in the corner, having picked back up on their conversation.
The Hog's Head, though a rather disreputable and shady establishment, and well off the beaten path and thus rarely frequented by Hogwarts students, was by no means a mystery to several of the Hogwart's Professors. Snape was not the only Professor to seek out its dark and quiet, though he was perhaps the only one who frequented it during the daylight hours. He supposed the question as to what he might be doing in such a place was just more fuel to his nasty reputation, and if it aided in keeping the students on their best behavior around him who was he to complain?
Glancing over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening he watched the small group of wizards slink out of the bar, closing the door behind them with a snap. He scoffed and returned his attention to the bar; he was probably also the only person who frequented the bar and did not feel the need to hide his face in anyway.
"What're you doing here?"
Snape turned his attention to the shadowy doorway behind the bar as the bar man entered. He straightened up, hands still resting on the grimy bar and did his best to remain relaxed; though he could feel his nerves tightening and the muscles in his lower back tensing slightly. The bar man stepped up to the bar, facing Snape from across it with a rather grumpy and dismissive look.
The bar man was considerably taller than Snape, tall and lean, with long stringy pepper-grey hair, and familiar but cold blue eyes, which seemed to peer through him over the tops of dusty spectacles. Snape felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand on end at the familiar sensation of being x-rayed, but merely leered back, refusing to break eye contact with the older man.
He was not afraid of Aberforth Dumbledore per say, though the man did make him feel a bit uneasy; he radiated a dark chaotic aura, static magic crackling around him subtly. His aura was not as powerful as his older brother's, but he was also not as good at keeping it contained; nor did he have his brother's benign personality that helped make other's comfortable around him.
Aberforth might not have been as talented as his brother, or as powerful, but Snape had a restrained respect for the man, knowing that should they have ever gone toe to toe in a duel, it was very likely that he would be lucky to walk away alive. Of course, this respect also stemmed from the fact that the older man had once bodily removed him from the bar, and he was not likely to ever forget that unbreakable steel like grip.
"Merely looking for a quiet place to hide away from the brats up at the school." He sneered. Aberforth snorted, pulling a dirty mug from under the sink and began cleaning it with an equally dirty rag, his gaze never wavering from Snape's.
"Can't you do that by locking yourself up in your office?"
Snape's lip twitched slightly, eyes narrowing; their encounters were always like this. Aberforth was not like his brother, he did not trust Snape; and despite the fact that his bar often was the location of shady dealings, that did not change the fact that Aberforth was no fan or friend of Death Eaters; ex or otherwise.
"Give me a firewiskey," Snape's tone was clipped, but Aberforth didn't refuse him, merely narrowed his harsh blue gaze before pulling a clear bottle with an equally clear liquid from under the bar and sliding it across the dirty surface. Snape's lips curled in a twisted fake smile, his own dark eyes narrowing as he slipped the money onto the counter. "thank you. I am not your brother, Aberforth; it is not my custom to merely lock myself away in my office when things become unpleasant." He spat, reaching up to grab the bottle and retreat to some corner to drink and think.
But before he could withdraw, the bar man's hand locked in a vice like grip around his wrist. Snape started, spitting out a vicious threat as his fingers numbed around the bottle and he was jerked forward; forced to lean slightly over the counter top.
"Funny," Aberforth hissed back, cold blue eyes narrowing as he pulled Snape's hand closer, his fingers locked firmly over the thin wrist, gaze never leaving the other's face. In a flash Snape had his wand in his other hand and pointed directly in the other's face, snarling at being touched.
"Let go!" He snapped, pulling back on his arm slightly but with no luck, the other's grip was too tight.
Aberforth didn't even flinch at the wand directed at his eye, but merely sniffed pointedly.
"You smell like him."
"What?" Snape spat, not exactly sure what he'd heard, too focused on trying to wring his wrist out of the other man's grip; feint sparks were beginning to spit from the tip of his wand, lighting up the older man's face and reflecting pure white on the lenses of his glasses.
"My brother, you smell like him." Aberforth stated, tilting his head to the side slightly, the blue sparks tingling against his skin but otherwise not bothering him in the slightest. "And I don't just mean you smell of his cushy office, scented smokes, or muggle sweets." A slight gasp escaped Snape as Aberforth yanked his arm a little farther and he found himself nearly nose to nose with the other man, cold blue eyes boring into his as though in an attempt to plunge into his mind; something that Snape knew the other man could not do but startling just the same. "You smell like him."
"I don't know what you're talking about, now let me go." Snape snapped, though his voice had lost its volume and most of the venom had disappeared with his saliva; all he could do was swallow against the dry lump that had formed in the back of his throat.
"Don't play me for a fool, boy. Don't you think that I'd recognize my own brother's scent? A scent that I grew up around?" Aberforth sniffed again and Snape's fingers twitched in his grasp. "I only ever smelt it this strong once before," Aberforth mused, something Snape couldn't read crossing cold blue eyes before he suddenly found his wrist released.
Withdrawing a few paces from the bar he rubbed at his wrist, eyeing the older man with weary anger. Aberforth had straightened up and was eyeing him with an unnerving look of anger, disgust, and what was unmistakably pity; and Snape found that he hated him for it.
"He took you didn't he?" Aberforth asked, though there appeared to be no doubt in his mind as to what the answer would be. "So what are you? You smell too sweet to be a Beta, but to faint to be an Omega." Snape's nostrils flared in indignation and he squared his shoulders, wand still held firmly by his side.
"How dare you—" the words caught in his throat and he huffed, puffing up like an adder. "I do not appreciate that insinuation, and how dare you ask—"
"Insinuation nothing, you reek of him!" Aberforth snarled back, slamming his hand down on the counter top. "Can't you smell it? It's practically embedded in your skin!"
Snape felt the beginnings of panic flaring up in the bottom of his chest, the tightening around his heart seeming to constrict to an almost painful level. He glared at the older man, though he was sure what little color he had in his face had drained away.
"Nothing happened."
"Oh, so you're saying he didn't mount you like a beast?"
Snape blinked at the crude use of terms but found himself too tongue tide to snap back, and all that he managed was a weak reply.
"H-he didn't—"
"Didn't knot you like some bitch in heat?"
"HE SERVICED ME!" Snape shouted, the color rising back into his face as he glared at the man from across the bar; his chest heaving as all of the anger and confused emotions that had been twisting and simmering beneath his skin bubbled up inside him. "He discovered that I was an Omega and he serviced me, that's all. It was an accident, an unpleasant happenstance that neither of us could have foreseen."
"Is that what he told you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You should know by now that my brother is a liar."
"If you claim that than I am lead to believe that you don't know your brother very well, Aberforth."
"Oh you think I don't know my own brother? It would be just like him to—"
"I'm the one who said that, the one who told him that. It was an unfortunate mistake that neither of us could have avoided. Nothing more, nothing less. His services were rendered, and we've moved on." Snape said coldly, his fingers loosening around the wand at his side, his breathing beginning to even out as he fought to regain control of himself.
"Than you're a liar too." Aberforth stated calmly, his gaze softening slightly, replaced with his usual grim features; the disgust vanishing from his blue eyes, though the pity remained where it was. "If you know my brother so well, at least as well as you say you do, than you should know that this was not a simple accident."
"You can't be implying that he set out for this to happen," Snape said frowning. "He didn't even know that I was an Omega until he came upon me."
"I'm sure he didn't mean for it to happen, but it did happen, and I can tell you this, he doesn't regret it. He isn't sorry for what he did, there's no remorse there, no remorse in his heart. Albus Dumbledore is a man incapable of feeling remorse."
"I didn't want his remorse, or his apologies." Snape spat his voice quiet. "I don't care if he's sorry or not, I'm not sorry, I don't care that it happened, or that it was him. He serviced an Omega, as an Alpha might do, that's all."
Aberforth surveyed him for a long silent moment, the air taught with tension between them. His lips curled slightly, into an almost mocking, knowing smile before he nodded; he picked up his dirty mug again and resumed cleaning it as he studied Snape.
"You tell yourself whatever makes you sleep at night, if you are indeed sleeping; are you, Snape? Or do you find yourself more often than not up late stalking the corridors for wayward students? Do you find yourself pouring all of your energy into going over tests and essays instead of sleeping?"
Snape felt the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand on end again, a chill seeming to creep over his rage flushed skin; the other man's words seemed to sink into him slowly like the torturous blade of a knife.
"Or do you dream of him when you sleep? Do you remember any of it? Probably not, I've heard the heat is brutal on the mind; to think, such a brilliant and cunning mind as yours to be rendered practically useless by your biology." He scoffed, setting the mug aside and pulling up another from behind the bar. "You must remember the smell, his smell. Do you dream about it? How does his scent differ between us? Does it smell as bitterly stagnant to you as it does to me? Or is its memory sweeter?"
"SHUT UP!"
Aberforth chuckled, eyeing the dark young man who was practically seething with rage, frame trembling slightly as he fought against the urge to curse him; he could practically see the desire in the other's red tinged face, practically feel the hate hammering against the fathomless black eyes; almost see the way his own image seemed to distort in their reflection.
"Are you really angry at me, for putting into words everything you're feeling? Everything that you're hating about yourself? Everything that keeps you up at night because you can't stand the fact that you remember the way he smelt, the sensation of his touch? Or are you angry at me because I drag his name through the mud?"
"SHUT UP!" Snape bellowed, raising his wand again and opening his stance. "Shut up, right now."
"Or what?" Aberforth asked rising his brows as he set the second mug aside and rested his palms against the bar top, eyeing the younger man as the air around them seemed to become electrified; it wouldn't be hard to block any hex or curse the man threw at him, nor would it take him more than a second to reach his own wand.
They faced off against one another, unspent magic tingling just beneath their skin, concentrating in their fingertips and tingeing the air around them for just a moment before the door to the bar opened and the heavy atmosphere that had come over them broke. Snape lowered his wand and blinked, taking a gulp of air and taking a step back as though stepping out of a dream; his heart was racing and his mind felt jolted, as though a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. Aberforth had picked up his second mug again and was cleaning it.
A wave of cold hit Snape's back as the door was closed and he turned, not even glancing to see who had entered the bar as he headed for the door.
"He might not have done anything, and you might not have meant it to be anything, but it is." Aberforth called conversationally from behind the bar, and Snape stopped at the door, hand on the knob. "You can't deny the truth, the obvious truth. He might not have done it, but you certainly did something, whether you meant to or not." Snape hesitated but didn't turn to look at the other man, merely walked back out into the cold air, slamming the door behind him as he went.
By the time that Snape had returned to the school, the last classes before dinner were just getting out, flooding the corridors with students; he could hear the thunderous rumble of hundreds of feet pounding the floors above, and the distant hum of hundreds of voices, all sound waspish to his ears. Luckily, only a handful of students were on the ground floor, and he had no trouble whatsoever crossing the entrance hall towards the staircase that lead down into the dungeons. Here too he only crossed paths with a few students, all of whom plastered themselves against walls or slipped into alcoves to let him pass; he didn't notice. In fact, he didn't notice much of anything until he'd crossed over the threshold into his own quarters and closed the door. Only then did he become keenly aware of the hot flush that was burning his body and the anger and rage bubbling in his veins and buzzing in his brain.
Aberforth's words seemed to repeat in his mind, over and over, each echo more mocking than the last. Growling, he undid his cloak and let it fall to the floor, crossing to the bathroom and locking himself in it; the candles all flickered into life, casting the room in a warm yellow glow.
'do you dream of him when you sleep?'
'You must remember the smell, his smell. Do you dream about it?'
'is its memory sweeter?'
Filling the basin of the sink with cold water Snape splashed himself a few times, trying to bring down the temperature in his face; but even as he leaned over the sink, bracing the counter with his hands, the younger Dumbledore's words seemed to only grow louder in his head.
' Are you really angry at me, for putting into words everything you're feeling? Everything that you're hating about yourself? Everything that keeps you up at night because you can't stand the fact that you remember the way he smelt, the sensation of his touch? Or are you angry at me because I drag his name through the mud?'
With a hiss, and a gulp of air, Snape plunged his head into the sink basin, sinking till the cold water reached his ears, and his nose nearly brushed the plug.
The cold water was a shock to his system, the rest of his body reacting to it by spreading with goose pimples, but he remained where he was, doubled over with his head in the sink. He tightened his grip on the edge of the basin, blunt nails digging against the stone as his throat seemed to stretch with air bubbles that wished to force their way into his mouth.
'you certainly did something, whether you meant to or not.'
Snape's jaw clenched as small air bubbles escaped his nose, and the compressed air in his lungs began to burn; his cheeks bulged slightly as the air in his throat forced its way into his mouth, leaving his throat feeling tighter than usual.
He could remember the last time his throat had felt so tight, so raw; remember when his lungs burned due to improper breathing; he'd had his lips stretched over Dumbledore's shaft. He could almost feel the pulse of the aroused flesh against his throat.
Straightening up with a loud gasp and cold water splashing down his front he let out a strangled swear as he pushed soaked strands of black hair out of his face. The memory of sucking the Headmaster's dick had stirred a feint heat to pool in his stomach, and his own flesh stirred with a minute interest.
Spluttering and grumbling Snape exited the bathroom, dripping his way to his bedroom where, instead of simply drying his robes, he stripped them off and through them bad temperedly in the corner of the room.
Shivering, and only covered in his dark gray pants, he moved to the wardrobe in search of dry robes when he was distracted by his reflection.
He was quite a sight standing there covered in gooseflesh and water droplets, naked save for the thin piece of material covering his half hard erection. He frowned down at the bulge in his pants but returned his gaze to his reflection and grimaced. He looked like a drowned rat; all lean gangly limbs, sallow skin, and zero muscle definition or tone. He certainly didn't pose an intimidating sight with his clothes off, nor a very appealing one.
But before he could become any more morose over his appearance a thought rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind; more a sensation really, an inkling, rather than a thought.
Dumbledore had seen him naked. More than seen, he'd touched.
And Snape's cock twitched feebly against the confines of his pants, the hairs on the back of his arms and on his legs standing on end due to more than the cold. Dumbledore had seen, and touched, and not timidly, or with any hint of disgust; he'd almost hungrily pressed his hands to Snape's skin, feeling with purpose every sharp angle and fleshy bits.
'certainly did something, whether you meant to or not.'
Snape rose a hand and ran his fingers over the back of his neck, over the bonding gland that remained just as invisible and just as smooth as it ever had; he was certain that Dumbledore had not marked him, claimed him, bonded with him; and yet…
Frowning a little harder Snape closed the wardrobe doors and turned his back on it, his hand sliding from his neck down to his chest where he felt his own heart beating steadily against his ribs; he let his other hand slide across his stomach and down to the hem of his pants, fingers only barely dipping beneath the elastic. His cock twitched, and his brows furrowed harshly.
Could he be certain that 'something hadn't happened between them? That something, something minor, something small, something undetectable to them had occurred during their time together?
Snape's fingers dipped a little lower, the tips brushing over the fine line of coarse hair, his cock hardening further but straining to lengthen against his pants, causing an almost pleasant ache. Had something happened?